


On with the motley

by rinkle



Category: StarTrek: The Next Generation
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-13
Updated: 2010-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 19:38:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinkle/pseuds/rinkle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starfleet is reeling from the damage at Wolf 359. Deanna decides some light entertainment is in order and presents her idea to the captain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On with the motley

**Author's Note:**

> Title: On with the motley  
> Genre: Gen  
> Rating: PG  
> Characters: Deanna Troi, Jean-Luc Picard  
> Spoilers: up to part way through season 4, set after the battle of Wolf 359.  
> Prompt: fox1013's Gen Battle, Star Trek: the Next Generation, any character - crew talent shows  
> Disclaimer: Own nothing, not being paid.  
> Word Count: ~900  
> A/N: Thank you to Cha Oseye Tempest Thrain for a thought-provoking beta. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

Summary: Starfleet is reeling from the damage at Wolf 359. Deanna decides some light entertainment is in order and presents her idea to the captain.

* * *

"Yes, Counselor?" Picard asked, looking up from the computer on his desk, his attention already fully engaged. She could sense that he was curious as to what her visit was about, as he had not requested her presence. It overrode all his other feelings, but even in their suppressed state she could feel the the ebb and flow of vulnerability produced by the Borg and what they had forced him to do. The self-loathing, betrayal, anger and hurt were fading, slowly but surely, day by day. It would never fully disappear, would always be a scar waiting to be reopened by the right sense of circumstances, as with any trauma, but his healing had leapt forward since he had visited his brother on Earth. He hadn't discussed what had happened in that visit, but she suspected that he had experienced an emotional catharsis.

Deanna walked forward and sat in the chair facing the captain's desk, crossing her right leg over the other and relaxing fully into its softness. Ergonomics was something that Starfleet had put a value on, that and soothing, graceful decor. When a person's job was to sit for eight hours a day, years in a row, it made sense to keep the back problems at a minimum, and pick colours and designs that were calming rather than jarring.

She placed her hands in her lap, letting herself open to all the lives on the ship for just a moment. A rush of feelings overwhelmed her: joy, sadness, irritation, anger, ambivalence, a particularly strong surge of attraction, and underlying it all, a heightened sense of anxiety.

It was that sense of anxiety that had brought her to the captain.

"Captain," she began, searching for the appropriate place to start, "may I suggest that a little distraction for the crew might be in order?"

The captain frowned slightly and leaned forward in his chair, pulling his uniform front down in a now unconscious manoeuvre.

"Things are that bad?" he asked — almost rhetorically, she thought. As captain, he was usually very aware of the crew's mood, and even with all his inner turmoil, she didn't think that had changed.

She kept her eyes centred on his face. "The crew is still very tense. There is a constant level of anxiety in everyone — even you, Captain." Thirty-nine ships lost, over 11,000 dead, and that was only from one Borg cube. Many crewmembers would have friends, family, or someone they had known among the dead. There was the added fact that nobody thought it was going to stop there. There would be more Borg incursions, many more lives lost, unless they figured out how to stop them. The conclusion: anxiety was understandable, but, unhealthy over the long term. "Over the short-term, I wouldn't worry so much, but it does not seem to be lessening."

Picard's jaw tensed as she spoke. To him, he was responsible for the situation, not just as a failing on the part of the ship's Captain to his crew, but also as a perpetrator of events. His own anxiety and self-loathing peaked for a few seconds, before being buried back down under his layers of duty, responsibility and emotional repression.

"What do you suggest, then, Counselor?" he said, his hands relaxing their clenched grip in his lap.

"A talent show," Deanna said decisively. "It would give a chance for the entire crew to get involved in a fun project, as well as the families."

Picard smiled, rubbed his cheek, an almost nervous, but also bemused, action. They'd had music recitals, poetry readings — a talent show wasn't much of a stretch. "A talent show. I think that's a marvellous idea. Of course, you will be in charge of organising it."

"Of course," Deanna agreed. She knew that you never suggested something unless you were willing to volunteer to do it. She also knew that she had the Captain right where she wanted him. "And, seeing as you think that it's a marvellous idea, Captain, as my first duty I would like to invite _you_ to give a performance."

That got a reaction.

"Oh, no, Counselor." He shook his head, tugged his uniform down again. "I'm afraid I couldn't. No, I'm much too busy."

"How am I supposed to convince other people to take part if their own captain won't?" Deanna asked.

Picard went to speak, and then stopped with his mouth open, considering her point. She could see the internal war he was waging: on the one hand, he really didn't want to do it; on the other, he needed to set an example. There was no doubt in her mind as to which side would win.

The captain sighed. "Would a recitation or a dramatic monologue do?"

"That would be fine," Deanna said decisively, standing up and making her way to the door. "Thank you, Captain. I will let you know further details as I have them."

"Fine, fine," the Captain dismissed, his mind clearly elsewhere. Probably trying to decide which section from Hamlet or Moby Dick would be most appropriate.

The door opened and she exited onto the bridge.

Now, to her next volunteer: Lieutenant Worf.

-FIN-


End file.
